


Cupcakes

by feraldogifer (feraldogstiel), samtheboyking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baker Lucifer, Fluff, Law Student Sam, M/M, Samifer Week 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldogstiel/pseuds/feraldogifer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a new bakery opens outside of KU's campus, it's no surprise that Dean drags him there in search of pie. However, it isn't the baked goods that have Sam returning time and time again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A bakery opens a couple blocks over from where Sam lives, right outside the KU campus. It’s small, like most places in downtown Lawrence, but it only takes Dean two weeks to declare with a tone that isn’t to be questioned that they have the “best freakin’ pie ever.”

Unfortunately, it also only takes Dean two weeks to develop a love-hate relationship with the place, because by the time he gets off work the shop is near closing, and they’ve inevitably run out of all his favorite flavors of pie.

Sam’s still not sure though how he wound up witness to Dean fuming, actually taking it out on the clerk when there’s no pecan in the display.

“It’s the third friggin’ time this week!!”

The guy—kid, really—behind the counter looks unamused, uses his tongue to push the lollipop hanging from one corner of his mouth to the other. There’s a hand-printed tag pinned to his shirt that reads ‘GABRIEL’ in obnoxiously large neon-green letters. “Yeah? Well, we’re sold out, so what do you want me to do about it?”

Sam is trying to become grossly absorbed in studying the window display of intricately decorated wedding and Christmas cakes, which actually isn’t too difficult, because the desserts are so meticulously completed; some with poinsettias and holly and others with smooth, sleek fondant with draping, more carefully embellished with cutouts of snowflakes and presents, and tiny piped dots and swirls. It’s artwork, really.

“So make more,” Dean says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world. “Ever heard of supply and demand?”

Sam stares determinedly at the delicate silver filigree adorning the largest confection in the window, a pristine four-tiered wedding cake, while doing his best to shrink into the background.

The guy, Gabriel, only rolls his eyes, leans an elbow on the counter. “Listen buddy, it’s the holidays- you think you’re the only one who comes in here for pie? You and like six or seven dozen other people a day. You want your pie? Get here earlier.”

If Dean hadn’t been at the end of his rope before, Sam is pretty sure this is it. He can always tell by the shift in Dean’s tone; they’d transcended the belligerent shouting phase (for the time being). Sam doesn’t even need to take eyes off the intricately designed wedding cake to know the look that must have come over Dean’s face.

“Now you listen to me,” Dean starts, and out of the corner of Sam’s eye he knows his brother must be pointing a finger at the associate’s face. “I work 8 to 6, Monday through Friday, sometimes Saturday. I don’t have time to be running over here during the day just because your business can’t get its shit together.”

While Sam doesn’t agree with his brother’s approach, he can’t deny that Dean is at least attempting to offer a good counter-argument. Over pies. Sam just holds back from shaking his head.

“Look, I don’t make the pies, I just send them on their way.” Gabriel throws his hands up, clearly not impressed.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Well then I want to talk to the person who does.”

It’s the first time since Dean started going off on his pie rant that Sam looks up, more out of sheer impulse and shock than out of desire to watch the shit hit the fan.

“You wanna talk to him? Fine. He’s not gonna be happy.” Gabriel pushes open the kitchen door and leans inside, just far enough to yell for someone within; “Luci-fer!!”

And, hold on. That can’t have been right.

“Lucifer!! -yeah, obviously he can’t… well tell him to take his headphones off!!” Sam can hear something metallic clatter in the kitchen, someone cursing and coming towards the door before Gabriel actually steps inside and lets it swing shut. Sam risks craning his neck to get a glimpse of what’s going on through the round window set in the door. It’s hard to see at this angle, but he can make out enough that the counter boy is obviously arguing with someone taller. Sam can see messy blonde hair and piercings, an apron over a Metallica t-shirt he’s very certain Dean has in his own collection (minus the torn-off sleeves). There’s a lot of frustrated hand gestures going on.

“Can you believe this guy?”

“...what?”

Dean gestures towards the little window. “This guy. You mean to tell me that douche is the one making my pie??”

Sam just has to snort at this. “Well apparently he’s pretty good at it if you’re hulking out over his pie.”

“I am not hulking out.” The vein in Dean’s temple throbs.

When the door swings open again, Sam catches a second voice, frustrated, confirming with Gabriel, “...we have a wedding tomorrow. I’ve got three tiers still to decorate- I’m not making more. I can’t make more. He’s gonna have to deal.”

A moment later Gabriel emerges from the kitchen and announces with a clearly triumphant gesture, “Well. Big bro says tough titties, he’s not making more tonight. And he’s the boss. So…” Something about the look on Dean’s face must have proven this answer unsatisfactory enough that the clerk attempts a peace offering. “Look,” he huffs, moving over to the display case, “there’s still plenty of cake left, we’ve got some really good chocolate fudge cake- super rich-”

“Cake?”

“Yeah, cake.”

Sam edges towards the cookie counter. No reason to be in the line of fire.

“If I’d wanted cake I would’ve asked for cake- I will never, ask for cake.”

Gabriel is starting to look at Sam with the brand of annoyance that clearly states ‘help me out, here- get this cake-hating crazy out of my grill.’ There’s a grating noise as he drags his teeth over the lollipop still lodged firmly in one corner of his mouth- one that registers remarkably well as irritation.

At the very least Sam feels like he owes it to the guy to try and contain the situation, after all, he is the one that came in here with Dean. He was going to be the one leaving with Dean, and he was, inevitably, going to be ‘that tall dude that just stood there and let this maniac go on a pie rampage’ if he didn’t do something. “Dean, maybe-”

“No Sammy, you’re telling me that a customer can walk in, I can walk in here after a full day of work, a full day of work where I can look forward to purchasing a pie, and end up being treated like this?”

“Dean-”

“No! You’re telling me that I have to stand here and listen to this jerk off telling me that I don’t get my pie because they’re too goddamn lazy to make more?”

The clerk behind the counter shrugs, patience looking to have died out long ago, more interested in sucking loudly on his lollipop. “Well you don’t have to stand here. By all means, feel free to exit the shop at any time,” he tells Dean slowly, voice drawling.

What little space had remained between Dean and the edge of the counter Dean manages to close, hand landing atop the surface with a loud, threatening smack. “If you think you can—”

“Dean.”

"What, Sam?!”

His brother finally pays him the courtesy of whirling around to face him. From how riled up he’s gotten Dean’s cheeks are flushed, jaw clenched tight. Sam is mildly concerned about restraining orders by now, and he pays a quick apologetic glance towards Gabriel, a bit of an ‘I’m sorry I put you through this much before intervening, I’m sorry I was too much of a coward and chose to hide near the cookies display’ grimace.

“Look,” Sam starts, slow and calm, like rationalizing with a five year old, which is a pretty fair assessment at this point. “I’ll come pick you some up tomorrow.” He waits, the entire, precarious situation balanced on Dean’s reaction.

There are a few seconds where Sam is worried Dean’s going to blow up all over again, but the tension dissipates with one long exhale from his brother. Dean’s face is no less irate but he is walking towards the exit now, Sam catching the mumbled, “They’d better have pecan,” before his brother is out the door.

A high whistling note has Sam turning back to the counter. Gabriel is shaking his head. “He’s got some issues kid.”

Sam’s not even sure how to respond to that. “I- sorry. I’ll be back tomorrow…” he stammers out before he’s pushing out the door after Dean, little bell on the shop’s door jingling to signal the end of that catastrophe.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turns out, he wasn’t able to go pick up Dean’s pie the next day- but at least  he  was the one chewed out for this and not the poor guy stuck working behind the bakery counter. It wasn’t until a month later, on his brother’s birthday, that he was actually able to go back for pie. And he made sure to get there early.

The weather outside is pretty awful — typical Kansas January — and this time of morning, the bakery is relatively quiet; there’s an elderly woman and what looks like her granddaughter occupying the sole booth in the tiny shop, sharing a piece of (admittedly, really delicious-looking) cake. The air is full of the scent of everything freshly-baked, the displays are thankfully full of different varieties of pie, and the window display has changed to a new trio of tiered cakes in icy blues and silvers, with delicate glass-like sugar snowflakes. It’s so quiet he almost doesn’t notice the man behind the counter rotating a crimson and blue cake in front of him with a mechanical precision, piping out a row of exactly-spaced dots along the bottom of one tier.

“Looking for something in particular?”

It’s the man decorating the cake- and apparently multitasking as the clerk today. He glances up from his work for a moment and Sam can see that it was the same guy he’d seen back in the kitchen several weeks ago, the one who’d refused Dean his pie. He also notices that his eyes are impressively blue- not the ocean sort, but more like the frosted blue cakes in the window display.

“So, no Gabriel today?”

“Not until this afternoon,” is the mild answer as the blonde resumes his work, eyes drifting back to the cake with a shrug. “He has class.”

“Pretty glad I’m not stuck in class today,” Sam offers, mostly polite conversation, but his voice drifts at the end, eyes straying to the row of perfectly uniform dots being piped out, the man’s hand not wavering the slightest in his work. It’s almost mesmerizing, watching dot after dot get laid out with such care, and eventually Sam’s gaze goes from the frosting and back up to the man’s face-  Lucifer’s  face, if he recalls hearing correctly.

Now that he’s up close and not merely sneaking looks at Lucifer through the kitchen window he has a lot more details to take in. The most obvious is the silver bar of the industrial piercing adorning one ear, metal glinting at each tilt of Lucifer’s head. Each ear wears a black stud, and there is also, after a moment, a flash of silver to accompany the swipe of tongue over Lucifer’s lips, a thought that has Sam’s eyebrows raising a fraction and his mind wandering to what other possible piercings Lucifer is sporting. By the time Sam is lifting his eyes the man is already looking back at him.

“So?” the man questions again, staring back expectantly. He seems to have finished his round of piping.

“What?” A second passes where Sam’s brain works to catch up, moving past messy blonde hair, bright eyes, piercings, and the tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves of the man’s shirt.

“I asked were you looking for anything in particular- or did you need to special order something…?”

“Oh right, yeah,” Sam laughs quietly and breaks out a small smile, taking the last step up to the counter. “I’m actually here for a pie. It’s my brother’s birthday today, so…” and Dean happened to be one of the only people in existence who wanted pie on their birthday over the traditional standard cake.

“...so you’re getting a pie?” A touch of doubt, as if he might need to direct Sam over to the correct display case for birthday fare.

“Mhmm,” Sam hums. “My brother, he’s uh, not much of a cake fan. At all, really.” And perhaps this was too close to damning information, because how often did they get a person in here who had a passion for hating cake? Then again, it had been a month since ‘the incident,’ they wouldn’t really remember a single disgruntled customer out of the rest, would they?

The blonde jumps down from the stool he’d been perched on to decorate the cake, boots squeaking on the floor. “Let me guess- the guy who’s in here every Tuesday night pissed we’ve run out of whatever flavor he wants hours ago?”

Sam’s smile may falter just the slightest. “Yeah… sounds like Dean.” And shit, Dean sure did make an impression. Sam shuffles his feet and tries to  not  nervously glance around the near empty bakery, tries to stand there as if he’s  not  brother to the customer with a history of verbal abuse.

“Well, that explains the pie.” And Sam is kind of wishing he’d picked a different bakery now. Or lied about the occasion. Sam wonders, as Lucifer sets aside his decorating tools, if this guy is even going to want to sell him a pie, at this rate. “So what kind?”

And, that’s not the reaction Sam was bracing himself for, was definitely not expecting the calm, even tone that harbored no animosity or indication that the man (LUCIFER his name tag declares, so Sam hadn’t heard wrong) was going to deny him service. He lets out a small sigh of relief. “Well he’s pretty big on the pecan, called it a ‘religious experience,’ I think.” Sam huffs a laugh, and is relieved to see a half-smile on the baker’s face when he glances sideways. “But really Dean loves all your pies, he might be your number one pie fan…” Disregarding, of course, the harassment.

“We have pecan left.” There’s a quiet hum as he pulls one of the pies off the rack, considering, “Doesn’t really scream ‘birthday’ to me, but if that’s his favorite… not a bad choice.”

Sam’s caught staring for a moment at how carefully he handles the pie, fingers placed gently but purposefully around the tin. There’s a star tattooed on his left hand, just behind the webbing between thumb and fingers. It’s a couple seconds before he realizes that Lucifer is staring, blue eyes on his face and waiting patiently for… him to approve the pie.

Shit.

“Oh! Yeah- that one’s good-” More than good. It’s a perfect golden brown, the pecans arranged in decorative concentric rings towards the starburst in the middle. Dean may actually wet himself when he sees it.

Lucifer whisks it away to be boxed up, and Sam  doesn’t watch the way he plays with his tongue piercing while he assembles the box, concentrating on folding all the flaps into a sturdy square. Generic frosted sugar cookies are far more interesting a subject for Sam to fix on.

“I should sign it.”

“What??” He’s been staring way too hard at cookies.

“Well, if he’s my ‘number one fan,’ then I should sign it, right?” Lucifer has half-turned to lift a pierced brow at him. He’s got a Sharpie in his hand and is waiting, expectant.

“Sign it?” Sam’s eyes finally raise to find Lucifer waiting on him, brows drawing inward. He’s poised to just merely agree with the idea (baker’s choice, he supposes) when the subtle lilt in Lucifer’s tone catches him. The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches. “You should.” He nods firmly in approval, leaning further over the counter, a full on grin threatening to take over his face. Serves Dean right, really. “I think Dean would be happy to have an autograph.” After all, what’s a Winchester holiday without a little screwing around with the guest of honor?

“Dean, was it?”

“Yeah.” Sam watches Lucifer pen neatly over the top corner of the box, Sam craning his neck a bit to glimpse the precise, even lettering. Figures that Lucifer would have nice handwriting, for as much detailed work he does with his hands.

‘ To my #1 fan- Lucky for you your brother didn’t inherit that asshole gene, Dean. Enjoy the birthday pie. I understand it’s your favorite. Best wishes, Lucifer. ’

Sam is a lot relieved to see that Lucifer can make a joke of the whole thing, has to grin at the not-so-subtle sarcasm printed above the cellophane window displaying the baker’s gorgeous pie. Dean might not find it so funny, but he’s still getting his pie, and he kind of deserves it. It’s really kind of-

“Perfect.” He’s still grinning when he looks up at Lucifer, who’s watching his reaction with interest, and a subtle proud smirk that suits him immensely. “It’s perfect- how much do I owe you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Lucifer, it turns out, understands brothers. He has several, after all- most younger. Gabriel, who is the only other Milton that works in the shop, becomes a familiar face after he finds himself stopping by the bakery a time or two a week on his way to or from class, but Sam most looks forward to the days when Gabriel is in class and Lucifer actually comes out of the kitchen.

Usually he’s still working- icing cakes, decorating cookies, filling the cases, punching hundreds of tiny shapes out of multicolored fondant, and forming intricate, delicate flowers out of gumpaste. At first Sam just grabs a snack and maybe a coffee and heads on his way. As the weeks go on, something drives him to linger, stay and chat while he eats. Sam asks what Lucifer recommends, and ends up trying something different nearly every visit. Lucifer is quietly but intensely proud of everything he bakes, and begins after some time to offer Sam samples of recipes he’s still working on.

They talk. Casual conversation about the weather and the Jayhawks basketball prospects turns into discussions about law and family and ethics. They talk about the bakery and law school and their brothers’ latest stunts, about living in Lawrence, and plans for the future. Luce wants to expand his shop, cater more events, and Sam has his eye set on some of the midwest’s biggest law firms. They both like historic architecture and horror movies. Sam mentions once serving as the Activities Coordinator for the law school’s LBGTQA club, and while Lucifer doesn’t seek much more detail than this, he accepts the information and moves forward in such a collected, sane, and easy manner that the tension of broaching the subject dissipates instantly. They don’t talk about it, but Lucifer watches him more openly after that, and Sam gets the impression that it’s not a bad thing.

Sometimes they don’t talk at all. Sometimes Sam just watches Lucifer work. He can spend hours tracking Luce’s movements through the shop, watching as he rearranges and fills the bakery case throughout the day, puts the finishing touches on his latest custom order, or assists the customers filtering in and out, the last of which peaks Sam’s interest the most. His demeanor is in stark contrast to Gabriel’s loud, enthusiastic energy, but Lucifer is no less kind with his customers, in his own uniquely mild yet attentive way. He basks quietly in the praise of little old ladies, is polite and charming as he boxes orders for mothers with their kids, and Sam learns that Gabriel’s policy of giving tiny sample cookies to their youngest clientele is actually Lucifer’s policy.

Sometimes Sam watches Luce work and becomes absorbed in the careful motions of his hands and the way light turns his hair different shades of golden-brown, the strong line of his neck beneath that tattoo of the silver and purple and black stars, and the way the dark-colored band shirts stretch comfortably taut across his broad chest.

Eventually, Sam begins spending more time in Lucifer’s bakery with his textbooks than he does in his own apartment; books are portable, and the bakery is a calm enough environment for him to concentrate, as convenient as his own apartment would be, or at least this is how he rationalizes the location change to himself. Even as a silent presence in the background Lucifer is a welcome companion as Sam occupies the little corner table, whatever book he happens to be working out of and his notes accompanied by a hot, fresh cup of coffee and the choice snack of the day. At times he can become so engrossed with the work in front of him that it’s Lucifer who takes notice first that his coffee has run cold, and takes the initiative to clear away his cup and offer him a fresh brew.

Still, despite the mutual, unspoken understanding they come to, quietly working in each other’s presence and sharing small pieces of their lives during the stretch of winter months, Sam approaches Lucifer one early May evening with some amount of caution as he prepares to pitch the idea that’s been on his mind for well over a week.

“So… I need cupcakes.”

“One second…” Lucifer murmurs absently, his attention absorbed almost fully into trailing intricate vines around the top of a Mother’s Day cake before he adds the flowers. Sam realizes Lucifer must think he means something from the display case.

“No, I mean- a lot of cupcakes. For an event.” Lucifer finally sits up, settles back on his stool, the piping bag still in one hand but all his focus gone into Sam’s proposal. “For OUTLaws… so do you want me to make an appointment?”

“You think you need an appointment to see me?” There’s a trace of a smile- one of his really amused ones- pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Sam’s lips part just the slightest, ready to give into the impulse of acknowledging what he  thinks  Lucifer is teasing him with- he hadn’t read that wrong, had he? But after a few good months of hanging around the bakery, gradually learning the details of Lucifer’s life (and exchanging his own), they have, Sam guesses, built some sort of tentative friendship… and maybe that’s all Lucifer was alluding to. “Well, you do seem pretty busy.” He leans further onto the counter to get a better look at Lucifer’s most recent masterpiece, a double layered round decorated in soft pastels; purples, greens, and yellows. “It’s a big order.”

“Oh, I can handle big orders,” Gabriel announces as he shoves the kitchen door open and drops his backpack underneath the register.

Luce gives an exasperated sigh before pressing on. “For OUTLaws? That’s the law school gay thing, right?”

The particularly flippant phrasing has Sam stalling in his response, a crease forming between his brows while the corner of his mouth turns down. “Uh, right.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, plays with the strap on his bag between his fingers, and tries his best to hold his tongue. Sam can practically see the gears turning in Lucifer’s mind. He’s dealt with insensitivities before, it comes with the territory- he just didn’t think he’d be dealing with such an awkward position when it came to Lucifer; doubly awkward, it dawns on him, as he stands there looking at Lucifer with the sudden realization that he’d maybe gotten a little attached to the baker, attached to the idea that maybe Luce would want to spend time with him outside of the bakery. He’d started to  like  him, dammit.

Gabe’s snickering in the background draws Sam’s attention away, and he’s really not sure what the hell could be funny at this point, but Gabriel is only directing his sudden, uncalled for glee towards Lucifer, with a grin wide enough to take up half his face. Sam accidentally lets an impatient sigh slip out and wonders if he’s not better off just taking his order somewhere else- or doing it himself (disastrous as that might end up), if it was going to be such an affront to the real bakers.

But Lucifer is a professional, and even if he seems uncharacteristically stressed and wary of the event, questions, “How many people?”

“Well, it’s sort of an awareness and promotional event. I was thinking at least 500? Is that too much to ask for?” He’s careful to keep his tone even, despite that he’d previously been excited to come into the shop, and had been looking forward to what Lucifer thought.

“...it’s a lot.” Lucifer answers with some hesitation. “But doable.” Gabriel groans behind him and Lucifer’s jaw tenses. “Is there a theme, or a certain way you wanted them to look?”

“Not really…” He had hoped the baker was going to be a bit more forthcoming with ideas. “The Pride colors would be nice, considering what the club is...” Hopefully Lucifer didn’t need him to be more specific, not that he seemed too keen about the order in the first place. Sam ignores the groaning in the background (which seems to be Lucifer’s preferred method of dealing with Gabriel, too) and digs out a flyer he’d made up for the event that showed the date and location. “The event’s in two weeks, I wasn’t sure if that was enough time...”

“I’m sure we can manage,” the baker insists mildly as he glances over the flyer, despite his brother sputtering in disbelief.

Sam actually manages to smile a bit- Luce’s relative lack of enthusiasm or no- relieved at least he won’t be the one trying to bake 500 cupcakes out of his tiny apartment with an oven he’s turned on  maybe  five times. “Great, thanks. I know it’s a lot to ask for…”

Lucifer hums his assent. “It is. I don’t normally do this sort of event.” Sam’s stomach sinks a bit- had he just heard that right? “But it will be good exposure for the bakery…” He trails at the end like he might say more, but in the end only toys with the stud in his tongue a moment before seeming to think better of it, Lucifer’s mouth shutting as he sets the flyer aside with a shrug.

“Yeah, that’s good.” It was far from the sort of keenness he’d hoped for, but he should have known Lucifer wouldn’t agree unless he was also getting something out of this order. Sam tries not to let this new insight into the baker’s interests disappoint him too much. “I need to get going, but I’ll probably stop by tomorrow on my way to class.”

“Of course, Sam,” Lucifer says, as if he expects nothing less.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks later Sam is helping set up a canopy on Wescoe Beach when the bakery’s beat-up truck pulls down Jayhawk Boulevard and maneuvers into a space near the tables OUTLaws & Allies has set up. He sees Gabriel get out of the passenger side and flag down Charlie, who is wearing the club’s noticeable t-shirt, to direct him. He might have offered more help if he wasn’t already being pulled aside to make more executive decisions, and deal with a broken copier seriously slowing down the production of pamphlets.

By the time he gets back from the law building, Gabriel and Lucifer have covered their tables in crimson and blue tablecloths and are working efficiently parallel to set out the dozens of cupcakes. And Sam is stunned.

Given Lucifer’s initial reaction to the request, he hadn’t been expecting much for the order (honestly, as long as their display had any food, that was going to attract attention on a college campus). He’d been imagining something along the lines of 500 rainbow swirled cupcakes (he hadn’t really left Lucifer with any more direction than that), but what he sees being set out leaves him shocked, has him hurrying over to the tables to intercept Lucifer in disbelief.

“Luce- what is this??”

Lucifer’s eyes travel slowly up from the pink-purple-blue swirled cupcake he’d been setting down, to the hand on his arm, up to Sam’s face. He looks to be questioning Sam’s sanity, emphasizing slowly, as if maybe his customer has forgotten, “You said pride colors.”

Gabriel pops up at his brother’s shoulder, putting in his two cents with eyebrows raised, “Well  somebody  ordered 500 cupcakes.”

“You said pride colors,” Lucifer repeats evenly, levelling that searching blue stare on Sam, lifting a brow as he prompts, “...I assumed you didn’t want only gay pride flags for an awareness event.”

“No, but-” But he hadn’t been expecting six, seven,  eight  variations, Sam counts, of different color combinations, each of which Sam can identify as a different orientation or identity falling under OUTLaw’s banner- hadn’t been expecting the baker to put such careful thought into the meaning of the event, or spend the time to consider the ways he could make it inclusive. It’s obvious Lucifer must have at least done some research, and all of his own accord at that. Sam grins, practically damn beams, and he’s once again falling- fucking hard- for Lucifer. “It’s great- really great. Thank you.”

Lucifer’s caution relaxes into an easy smile at the praise, and he dusts his hands off on the apron over this gray Led Zeppelin shirt. “I thought there should be something for everyone- or, as close to everyone as I could get.”

Sam’s not sure whether the short laugh that leaves his mouth is mostly disbelief or relief, and he finds himself saying, “Jeez, and here I was thinking-” Sort of embarrassing now what he’d been thinking, what he’d assumed about Lucifer, “I thought you were annoyed about having to do a bunch of stuff for ‘the gay thing’.”

Gabriel snorts. “No, he was annoyed at me for not being all gung-ho on baking 500 cupcakes- in between everything else that we already had scheduled- in a kitchen built for like, max 350?”

“I actually wasn’t totally sure I was going to be able to pull it off, but I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Lucifer notes with a slight frown. “It was stressful,” he admits. “But worth it.”

“Definitely worth it- again, thank you. I still can’t believe you did all this…” Sam surveys the tables full of dozens of multicolored cupcakes stretching out across the space they’ve sectioned off, several stacks of emptied boxes already piling up behind their work station and more cupcakes still boxed and waiting. He tries to picture all the work that must have gone into this- hours and hours- and it’s suddenly easy to understand why Luce had been so tense about the order.

“Well he had  help ,” Gabriel lends his input while busying himself with a new row iced in swirled pink, yellow, and blue to emulate the pansexual flag.

“So- let me guess. Everyone gets to pick what they are?” An extremely clever idea really, one that Sam wishes he’d thought of himself, and one he’s extremely happy that Luce took the time to.

“Yeah,” and suddenly there’s certain smugness to Lucifer’s grin, a self-satisfaction to do with more than just the baking as he draws himself up, crosses his arms over his chest and cocks a brow at his customer. “So are you going to pick?”

The way in which Lucifer awaits his decision, tone turned lighter, teasing, has Sam remembering the tentative bond he’d thought they’d been building towards, up until the slight awkward tension ensuing after asking Luce to cater. It has Sam feeling stupidly hopeful, and he takes his time to gaze around the table that’s quickly filling up, even if Gabriel is now the only one working to set out some admittedly delicious looking cupcakes.

There’s a wide variety to choose from, but eventually Sam fixes on the pink, green, and blue icing standing for the polysexual flag- still partially amazed that he even has the correct choice available. He goes for one in chocolate, plucks it out from the back of the display table and tips its colored icing top towards Luce. “And what about you?”

Lucifer’s hand hovers a moment, and Sam unconsciously holds his breath.

Oh.  Black, silver, white, purple. Asexual, then. That would explain all the cake. Not that there was anything wrong with that- wouldn’t change the fact he likes Lucifer- but Sam had gotten his hopes up again, and if he were entirely honest with himself- he’s not certain how well he would be able to make a relationship with someone who doesn’t have an interest in sex work out. He can’t help feeling disappointed that despite his attraction to Luce, they likely wouldn’t be the best match for each other.

But he smiles, genuine still, and nods up towards the front where Castiel is working with Charlie to hand out the pamphlets. “Cas is ace too.” Cas is also one of Sam’s best friends here at KU- no reason he and Luce couldn’t maintain their friendship- nothing need change in what they’ve been doing the past few months.

Lucifer only laughs quietly at Sam’s introduction, shakes his head. “I knew I was going to bite myself in the ass with that one.”

Maybe he’s missing some subtle asexual joke here. “What??”

“Well, since they’re not actual flags… it’s only the colors that are right.”

Colors-  the colors . Black, silver, white, purple. “Demisexual?” Sam questions, and there’s a small spark of hope rekindling. “You’re demi?” And please, let him be right this time. Sam squints- or is the icing more magenta than indigo. Gynephilia?

But Lucifer smiles quietly, like he’s weirdly proud of Sam for figuring it out, affirming, “I’m demi.”

There’s a sigh of relief from a breath Sam didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Awesome. Not that asexual isn’t awesome, but…” Sam stops, eyes moving away from Lucifer’s gaze (now looking rather amused) and over to the collection of small stars inked on his neck right below his hairline- same colors. “ Oh \- your tattoo-” How had he missed that connection for  months ?

And if Lucifer had looked amused before, he’s wickedly so now. “I don’t hide it.”

And looking back, Sam realizes he hadn’t. The signs had been subtle- lingering stares and the quiet, understanding way Lucifer listened, the shared recipes and space, replaced cups of coffee and teasing about his brother- but they had been there. He had, like with the tattoo, just completely missed the deeper meaning. And so he finds himself grinning like an idiot at Lucifer, and Lucifer watching back expectantly, both with cupcakes still in hand.

“So, can we pretend that I haven’t been an idiot for not asking you a few months ago, and get dinner later?”

“I’ve been wondering when you would ask.”


End file.
